


Band-aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Hurt Steve Rogers, Injury, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An injured Steve Rogers stumbles into the clinic at closing time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band-aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes

**_This is a rewrite of a fic by the same name with Dean Winchester. [[x](http://mrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com/post/130583756907/band-aids-dont-fix-bullet-holes)]_ **

* * *

 

The first time you met Steve Rogers, he stumbled into the clinic just as you were getting ready to lock up. He was bleeding from the shoulder, cradling his arm against his stomach, and stumbling as if he couldn’t see straight. Which, judging by the amount of blood that was flowing from a gash in his hairline, he probably couldn’t. The sight of a beaten man didn’t frighten you. You had been a nurse for several years now, so you had seen your fair share of wounds and injuries. It was the look in his eyes that made your blood run cold. They were wide enough you could see white, and they darted from side to side. He looked panicked, almost crazed.

“Can you help me?” His voice was sandpaper and gravel.

“Everyone’s gone home. I’m the only one here.” You weren’t exactly sure why you just told a complete stranger that you, a seemingly defenseless woman, were completely alone.

He ground his teeth, grimacing as his knees buckled. He fell hard against the reception counter, sliding it against the tiled floor with a borderline deafening squeal. You jogged around the displaced counter and slid an arm around his waist, pulling him up. It wasn’t easy by any means. He was tall and thick, in a good way, and under the dark jacket and red shirt, he was all muscle. You led the way to the closest exam room, thankful you hadn’t closed the door. Groaning, you flipped on the light and half-drug the injured man over to the exam table. You weighed your options as he dropped to the table and hunched over, gripping his arm against his belly. The closest person with more medical training than you was almost an hour away. The only thing you could do was grab everything you needed for an emergency exam. Thankfully, there were several tables set up for tomorrow.

After pulling over one of the pre-prepared tables, you stood on his left side and snapped on a pair of gloves. “Any allergies I need to know about?” Steve shook his head, sucking in a breath between his teeth when the movement proved to be too much for him.

“You’re gonna have to let me see.” Even through the glove, you could feel the heat of his hand as you covered it with yours.

His grip loosened enough that you could see a rip in the jacket, it was long and ragged. You could only imagine the damage done to the skin and muscle underneath. You blew out a breath and pushed the jacket down his arm; the shirt beneath it fell away like torn paper in the breeze.

One giant wound greeted you, oozing blood and showing off a shine of white that normally shouldn’t be seen. “Son of a bitch.”

His brow shot up, “Language.”

You muttered an apology; he was obviously a man that believed in God. Not that you didn’t believe in Him, but you also felt that there was a proper time and place to express yourself in an un-Godly way. In your book, this definitely qualified.

Since becoming a nurse, you had sutured together thousands of wounds, but all of them paled in comparison to the task at hand. Faced with the possibility that the man in front of you might bleed out and die, you pulled in a deep breath tinged with copper, clenched your jaw, and threaded the needle.

You don’t know how he did it, but Steve didn’t so much as flinch under your touch. Oh, he moaned and groaned, even let out a strangled cry every so often, but every time the needle and thread passed through muscle and skin, tugging it together, he stayed rooted to the table. By the time you finished with his shoulder, you had lost count of the stitches given, and your bottom lip hurt from biting it in concentration.

He rolled his neck, stretching out the tight muscles, and looked at you through blood-stained, blonde lashes. “You bite that lip any harder and you’re the one that’s going to need medical attention.”

A chuckle you weren’t expecting spilled out. The blood oozing from the cut above his eye had pretty much stopped, but it was still a deep laceration. “You want me to stitch that up, too?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’d tell you how much it might hurt, but seeing as how I just stitched you up from the bone-“

“I’ve been through worse.”

 _I’ll bet._ Everyone knew about Captain America and the battle he was fighting. It’s not like it was a secret that the war was devastating; claiming the lives of hundreds of thousands of husbands, brothers, fathers, sons, and uncles. Every day it felt like someone you knew had just received news of a loved one’s disappearance or death. There were a million and one questions you wanted to ask him, but yet, you couldn’t vocalize even one of them.

A new needle was threaded before you stood between his legs. At your direction, he turned, facing you head on. You were the same height now, and every time he took a breath, you felt it on your neck and chin, through the strands of hair that had slipped out of your slightly disheveled hair. Even though his eyes were clear -no panic clouded the incredible blue eyes- you forced yourself to watch what you were doing. But damn it, if he wasn’t distracting. The bitter copper smell of blood had started to fade, leaving a mix of sweat, faded cologne, and leather.

Finally gathering enough courage, you cleared your throat. “What brings you to the area, Steve?”

He swallowed loudly. “You know who I am.”

“Honey, the entire world knows who you are.”

“I suppose you’re right about that.”

You glanced at him, momentarily taken aback by his striking features, before focusing on finishing the stitches. “You sound-”

“Relieved that you didn’t scream and jump into my arms?” He chuckled gently and dug his palms into his thighs.

“I suppose you get that a lot.” With a satisfied smile, you clipped the thread and began to gather every piece of gauze and cloth that had been tainted by his blood, tossing them into a hazardous waste bag.

Steve stood slowly, giving the stiff muscles plenty of time to stretch out. He rolled his shoulder to test the boundaries of the newly applied stitches. Seemingly satisfied with your work, he ran a finger over them gently. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

You walked him out of the room and to the door before he looked down at you, his hand held out between you. Hoping the rush of warmth to your face remained unseen, you slid your hand in his. The brush of callouses on your palm was brief, but your skin itched for more. His wide smile made his eyes sparkle.

“Thank you… again.” Steve dipped his head in a polite manner and exited much quieter than he had entered. You watched him disappear into the shadows, sighing in a way that was frowned upon by your elders. 

* * *

Just when you thought you might forget about the blue-eyed superhero, he stumbled in, literally. And just like before, it was closing time, and you were alone. He followed you to the same room as last time, clutching his other shoulder. But unlike last time, there was no blood, no gaping wounds; just a pinched expression that wrinkled his brow.

Without direction, he pushed his jacket off. His shoulder looked… weird. One arm hung lower than the other and it made your stomach flop. “I uh… I’ve never put a shoulder back in.”

Steve shook his head. “Nothing to it, doll. Just apply the right amount of pressure, and we’re golden.” He gave a grimace as he dropped into a chair in the corner. “Grab my wrist and put your foot here,” he pointed to deepest part of his armpit.

“I uh… I’m sorry?” You tried to keep the shock out of your voice, but you failed miserably.

He grabbed one of your wrists and pulled you to him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. “Grab my wrist, both hands work better than one, and put your foot here,” he pointed to his armpit again, “but take your shoe off.”

You followed his direction, trying not to notice that when he leaned back in the chair, his legs fell open. “Like this?” Pain skittered over his features when you lifted his arm, grinding bone against bone.

He was breathing heavily as he clenched his teeth, “Pull once, and make it count. Keep pulling until you feel it give.”

So you did. You pushed with your foot, simultaneously pulling on his wrist. You grunted with the strain and he roared in pain until finally, his shoulder popped back with a sickening wet pop. He shot out of the chair, almost knocking you over in the process, and crossed the room, digging in the small freezer for an ice pack; slapping it against his shoulder with a hiss.

“What happened this time, Steve?” Part of you really wanted to know who -or what- was strong enough to dislocate Captain America’s shoulder, but deep down, you really, really didn’t want to know.

Facing away from you, he rolled his neck, groaning as pain shot through his upper back. “I can’t tell you that, sweetheart.” He began pacing, his head hanging low, shoulders hunched, looking very much like an injured little boy. Ok, not so little.

“You like the area or…” your voice drifted off as you started to anxiously swing your foot back and forth.

“Can’t really say for sure, I’ve only been here the two times.”

“What’s that supposed to be mean?”

“It took me three hours to get here. You took such great care of me last time, I couldn’t resist coming back.”

You couldn’t believe it. “You flew, or drove, _three hours_ with a dislocated shoulder because I took such great care of you?” As if saying it again would force your brain to understand.

Then he was looking at you, blue eyes sparkling in the horribly dim lights, and he licked his bottom lip. “I’ve been through worse.”

It took a moment before you found your voice, and when you did, it was more shaky than you would have preferred it to be. “I know, I’ve seen the scars.”

The shoulder you stitched three months ago shrugged, stretching the dark blue Henley to the point where you would swear the double-stitched seam would come undone. He crossed the room, removing the ice pack as his boots fell heavy on the floor.

“For someone who’s helped me twice and seen my scars, I never got your name.” The sudden proximity of him made your blood pump harder and your mouth go dry. Even though there was a chance you could bump into him, you stood, breathing in his spicy cologne before telling him your name.

He repeated it, his tongue rolling the letters his gravelly voice formed, and you swear your knees started shaking. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There wasn’t enough moisture in your mouth or throat, so you nodded, hoping you didn’t look like a complete idiot. Then he did something you didn’t expect. He bent down and pressed a quick kiss into the corner of your mouth. You didn’t even have time to lean into it, to kiss him back, or to even really believe what was happening. All you knew was that you blinked and it was over. He side-stepped and disappeared the way he had before. 

* * *

“Can’t you just… put a band-aid on it or something?” Steve hissed as you prodded at the wound, digging out the bullet that wasn’t quite a through and through.

“Band-aids don’t fix bullet holes, Steve. Besides, you came to me, remember?”

A laugh ate at the edges of a pain laced groan. “Yeah. I’m beginning to rethink things.” Metal scraped against metal, but the surgical tongs came out empty. Determined, you pushed them back into the hole that was on the edge of the scar left by your stitches five months ago.

“I would ask what happened to you, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t tell me.”

He growled as the tongs pushed against the bullet. “What’s your point?”

“You’re not exactly forthcoming with the reason behind your injuries.”

“I… I can’t, doll.”

The tip of your tongue played between your teeth when the tongs were secured around the bullet. “For my safety, right?

The bullet dropped into a metal bowl, followed by the tongs, and Steve slumped over, groaning heavily. “Shit.”

Biting back a laugh, you arched your brow as he had done several months ago when you had cursed. “Language, Steve. Now, hold still, I’m not done yet.”

He yelped as you cleaned the wound, the peroxide sizzling against the torn skin and muscle. Stitches were next, and you found yourself wondering just how many stitches his skin has seen. Judging by the scars you could see, had seen, it had been a lot. Was there any skin not marred by injury?

“You’re much better than before.”

You risked a glance and found him staring intently at you, tongue playing over his bottom lip like he had other intentions on his mind. “Keep coming in like this, and I’ll be a pro before you know it.”

“Where else would I go,” his voice dropped. All humor and pain drained away, leaving a rawness to it that sent goosebumps over the back of your neck.

“I’m sure you have other places you could go, more experienced people that wouldn’t leave such nasty looking scars.” You avoided his eyes on purpose as you reached over, setting the needle and thread down before grabbing the gauze and medical tape.

“Nope.” The word was almost lost in the sound of tearing tape, but it brushed over your ear. It was after the gauze was secured to his shoulder that you looked at him. His already indescribable blue eyes were even more so, and they kept darting from your mouth to your eyes. In the time it took you to blink, his hand was on your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. Callouses scraped against softer skin, and it was everything you thought it would be. He pulled you so you were standing between his legs, hands on his thighs, gripping onto muscles that flexed beneath your touch. The air between you was sucked between his parted lips before they were on yours. Unlike the first kiss -if you could even call it that- this wasn’t gentle or sweet. It was rough, demanding, possessive, and thorough. _My God_ , was he thorough. You could taste remnants of chapstick, the cinnamon gum he chewed, and the burger he had for dinner. You melted against him, grabbing at the back of his neck with one hand, raking your nails through the short strands of hair.

His teeth scraped over your bottom lip before he bit down, not enough to hurt, but enough to fuel the heat in the pit of your stomach. His slightly stubbled chin rubbed against yours, making you wonder how it would feel on other softer, more sensitive parts of your body. His lips left your mouth, but that didn’t mean he was done kissing you. They traveled along your jaw, his tongue and teeth making appearances as well, leaving red marks in their wake. But when he got to the spot below your ear, he sucked hungrily. Your head fell to the side, giving him more access, and he happily obliged to your silent request. You groaned his name, squeezing the back of his neck and uninjured shoulder before he hissed against your skin. He had tried grabbing at you, to pull you closer with his freshly shot arm.

You were both panting when you looked down at him. His pupils were blown, leaving the smallest line of dark blue. You ran your thumb over his kiss swollen lip, feeling the ridges against the pad of your finger, even scraping the side of your nail over the plumper than normal lip.

“Too much, too soon, huh?” Your voice was soft and breathy.

“A little pain’s good, but not that much.”

Flashes of pain mixed with pleasure burst through your mind, and you could feel the blush color your cheeks and neck. “You want to head out, get a drink or… something?”

His eyes fluttered closed and you could tell he was arguing with himself. “I can’t. I have… things to take care of.”

Apparently, the logical side won. Disappointment put out the fire threatening to consume you whole. You nodded as you stepped back, giving him plenty of room. As he stood tall, his hand slid from your hair, coming to a stop on the small of your back.

“Don’t think that means I won’t be back.” He kissed you again, softer than last time, but firmer than the first. There was no play of tongue against your lips, just a soft moan before he pulled back. With a playful wink over his shoulder, he strode out and into the shadows. You were beginning to think that’s how he would always say goodbye.

* * *

There was a knock on your front door. It was your night off and you hadn’t ordered any take-out. No one was coming to visit either, so you were half-tempted to let it go unanswered. Almost every light was off, so as far as everyone in the neighborhood was concerned, you had turned in for the night. Your attention fell to the book you had been meaning to read for the last six months just when there was another knock.

“I swear to God, if it’s some kid asking for handouts-“ you threw the door open and whatever you were going to say next, died in your throat.

Steve stood on the other side looking like he had just lost everything that mattered to him. His hands were pushed into his pockets and his shoulders were slumped ever so slightly. He tried to smile, God help him, he tried. “Hey, Y/N.”

Your chest ached just looking at him. “Steve, wh- what are you doing here?”

“I stopped by the clinic, but you weren’t there. I told them it was an emergency. I… I hope that’s ok.” He scraped a shaking hand over his face and that’s when you realized something was _really_ wrong. But he didn’t give you a chance to ask.

“If it’s not too late, I… I think I’d like to take you up on that drink,” his voice cracked. It was broken, so very broken, and it drove tears to your eyes.

“Yeah, Steve, of course.” You stood on tiptoe and wrapped your arms around his neck, absorbing the weight of him as he crumbled apart.


End file.
